Cyanide
by December-Never-Ends
Summary: America visits England before the world meeting, only to find that a giggly, so-happy-it's-disturbing fruitcake has taken his place. 2p!England/Normal America. Rated for gore.


**Okay, so I read 'Cupcakes', and it was awesome. Here's a vaguely inspiring gore fic for y'all.****  
WARNING: Gore and disturbing imagrey ahead. But you probably knew that, because 2p!IGGY IS CRAZY.  
**

***Cyanide***

"...England?"

When America had entered (read; picked the lock and broken into) England's house, he was immediately alerted by the savory sweet aroma that filled the home. When he rushed into England's kitchen, prepared to cover his nose and whisk the Bit right out of there, he didn't expect to see his friend calmly mixing batter, and the room in total order.

When England turned around, a wide smile spread across his face. He set the bowl down on the counter, patted his floury hands on his apron, and all but skipped towards America. "You're here, you're here!" he giggled, wrapping his arms around America's neck. "What a lovely surprise visit! It's so great to see you, 'Merica!"

"Umm," America's eyes trailed up and down England's body as he pulled away. His clothes were weird, that was for sure; he was wearing orange-tan slacks, pink shoes, a pink sweater vest with a purple, long sleeve shirt under it, and, to top it all of, a light blue bow tie rested fastened loosely around his neck. America noticed, with a frown, he was also wearing dark tinted sunglasses; who wore sunglasses inside? His hair also seemed to be neater, with a light strawberry tint to it. What had happened to him?

"Hey... England," America suspiciously replied. "So, uhh, what're you doing?"

England giggled. "Making cupcakes, silly! What does it look like?" Then he gasped, covering his mouth with his hands. "Oh, dear, I've gotten flour all over your jacket! I'm so sorry, darling!"

"...It's fine," America said, glancing around the room. Was England trying to prank him or something? Well, he wasn't going to fall for it! He was the hero, after all.

"Oh, I have an idea!" England exclaimed, smiling again. "You can help me make the cupcakes, sweetheart! I want to give them out at the next World Meeting, so they have to be extra special, okay?" The World Meeting was only a thirty minutes away. Why wait until now to make the cupcakes?

"Yeah. Sure." America grunted. "Look, dude, if your trying to prank me, it's not working. So stop it."

"Stop what?" England pouted. "I'm not pranking you, dear, I swear it! Now, come help me mix the batter." He turned around and trotted back to the counter, a light bounce in his step. America felt his eye twitch, and he hesitantly followed.

"Are you high?" he asked, taking off his gloves and setting them on the counter. England picked up the mixing spoon and began stirring the batter at an expert speed, a small smile on his face.

"What? Me? No. What gave you that idea?" England replied casually, pulling the spoon out of the batter. "Here, darling, try this. You always used to love sneaking food and licking the spoons when you were younger and I was cooking, right? Have some."

America sniffed the batter, and, though it smelled delicious, a tingle shocked his spine and rose the hairs on the back of his neck. It was as if his mind was screaming, 'no! don't do it!' but England shoved the spoon into his mouth and he took a lick.

He found that the batter was amazing; it was light, fluffy, and the taste was delicious. He eagerly licked up the rest of it, not noticing how England's kind smile turned into a slightly disturbing smirk.

"Wow, that was good!" America exclaimed. "Can I have some more?"

"Aw, but then we wouldn't have enough for the cupcakes, sweety!" England laughed, slipping an arm around America's shoulder. "But now, 'Merica, we've gotta take a break."

"What? Why would we..." America's head suddenly seemed to grow lighter, his vision blackening and growing rather fuzzy. England rubbed his hair and tightening his strong grip on America's shoulder's as he fainted, a small dribble of drool escaping his mouth.

"Now," England said, grinning as he picked America up almost effortlessly and threw him over his shoulder. "Let's make cupcakes."

***Cyanide***

When America woke up, a sting of metallic scent invaded his nostrils, and he snorted, trying to pull his hand up to touch his nose - only to realize that he _couldn't_.

Quickly, America began to try and wiggle his fingers, to move his head, to lift up his chest; but it was all useless. It became apparent that his entire body was immobile, save for his eyes, which darted around frantically in the darkness. He couldn't see anything, and sweat began to roll down his face when he heard an ominous giggle and some shuffling at the far side of the room.

"E-England?" he called out weakly, a strain evident in his voice. The shuffling stopped for a moment, before Alfred could distinctly heard the pitter-patter of feet across what seemed to be a concrete floor. A bright light flashed in his face, and Alfred flinched away.

"Oh, you're awake! Great! Now we can make cupcakes!" England said giddily, his glasses slipping slightly from his face as he leaned over America, shoving the flashlight in his face. America's level of panic rose. An under layer of malice was coating England's honey sweet words, and the way he spoke with a seemingly never ending enthusiasm was starting to scare America.

"Haha," America croaked. "H-hey, buddy, you- you got me. Very funny! Now, can you, uh, let me go? Please?"

"What?" England's smile didn't leave his face, and actually grew wider and, if possible, more demented. "Now, now, baby, why would I do that? We haven't made cupcakes yet!"

America's blue eyes darted around frantically, and he struggled to move. While he could acutely feel the floor beneath him and the cold of the room begin to wrap around his exposed arms, he couldn't move a single finger or toe. The smell was beginning to make his skin crawl, and the cold in the room felt almost unnatural. "What did you _do _to me?" he shrieked, his forehead getting sweatier in his nervousness.

"What did I do to you?" England mocked him in a sing song voice. "It's not what _I_ did, sweetheart. _You_ were the one who ate too much of the batter. I barely had enough left to make cupcakes! And I still need the final ingredient."

England's fluffy attitude and strange appearance was starting to get to America. The whole situation disturbed him. "And that is...?" he asked, hoping he could sweet talk his way out of this mess.

"You."

If America could have been shaking, he would have rocked the whole room. England slowly reached up to take off his dark sunglasses, and when he did, America's eyes widened and his breath hitched; instead of the familiar emerald eyes, a pare of pale blue eyes with swirls of pink and dark, small pupils stared back at him. When "England" opened his mouth, America saw that his teeth were sharpened and pointy.

"You're not England," America stuttered. Years of horror movies with monsters who appeared human to get their victims flooded his head, and he cursed himself. "Who the hell are you? Where's England? Who _are _you?"

The England doppelganger giggled. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, silly! And England is somewhere very far away!" He pulled a cord hanging off the wall and a nearly blinding light filled the room. America's eyes slid shut, and when he opened them, he wished he hadn't.

The room was covered in blood; that explained the dizzying scent. A row of suspended cages hung only a few feet away, and America blubbered when he saw what was inside them; heaps of rotten flesh, mangled beyond repair, the blood spilled out still and showering onto the floor. How had he not heard that? Beyond the cages was a shelf filled with rows upon rows of glass jars, organs haphazardly squished inside them. When America looked back to Arthur, the man was grabbing a scalpel off a metal table.

But what America saw after that was what made his heart fill with a hollow sadness and deep horror he knew he could never replace. A wall with the corpses of children propped up like they were lawn tools; the mangled bodies were covered in blood, some of them, but others had been cleaned off so that America could clearly see their injuries; several of the children had entire limbs cut off and sewn onto other parts of their body, and one little girl, no older than five, had her body literally tied into a knot, her arms wrapped around her legs, which were in turn wrapped around her head. A few had their necks bent at awkward angles, but what was worse was that their torsos had been sliced open and their organs ripped out.

Their faces had also been cut from their heads - nicely clean pearly white skulls, now, - and held up by tacks, proudly displayed over their destroyed bodies.

"Ah, yes, I see you've found my collection!" Arthur laughed slightly, picking America's head up so he could see better. "They did squirm and cry a bit too much for my liking, but all of them were so sweet! They tasted very good in the cupcake batter, yes they did!"

"... What's wrong with you?" America croaked, his lips trembling as he met Arthur's gaze. He started to shake violently, and America was relieved to find that he had his ability to move again.

Arthur didn't answer his question. "Oh, good! Now that you can move again, we can really have some fun..." He was cut short when America sprang up, wildly looking around for a door, a window; any way out. When he spotted a wooden door just to his right, America made a mad dash for it, his legs weak and stumbling.

"Hey!" Arthur shouted, clearly displeased. He ran forward, tackling America and straddling him halfway to the door. America's head hit the floor hard, and a flash of white hit his eyes before Arthur's smiling face swam back into view.

Except this time, his smile was rueful and angry. He held America down with his bare hands, baring his teeth through his grin. America panicked when he realized that Arthur was much, much stronger than him; he wasn't even breaking a sweat holding him down.

"How _dare _you," he hissed through pearly teeth. "Trying to escape! How rude! And here I thought we could peacefully make cupcakes together! But I guess not!" He brought a pair of hand cuffs out of his pocket and snapped them on tight, enjoying the obvious look on desperation on America's face. The larger nation thrashed about, trying to throw Arthur off balance, but he held on tight. Finally, America, having worn himself out, collapsed and resorted to begging.

"Please," America gasped through his heavy breathing. "Please oh please let me go. Please, Arthur, I don't want to make cupcakes."

"What's this bollocks? You don't want to make cupcakes? I think you're lying, lad!" Arthur chuckled, securing metal braces around America's legs and torso, who immediately started to struggle again. "Lying is naughty," Arthur continued, "And naughty boys get punished, don't they?"

America whimpered at the cold metal scratching his skin, and chains pulled him to his feet. Now his legs were pulled spread eagle, and his arms were held above his head, his wrists still locked in the handcuffs. He thrashed about, but the chains and braces held sturdy, and America felt a hot rage surge through him. "Let me go, goddammit! Hear me, Arthur? Let. Me. Go! Or there'll be hell to pay!"

Arthur flinched, and his eerie smile flickered. "Hell? Such a bad word, America! I might have to gag you soon; you don't want that, now do you?"

America just spat at him.

Arthur pretended not to notice, and turned back to his table. He grabbed what looked like a medical tool, trailing his finger along the sharp tip. "Now, we should probably start with taste testing. We don't want bad ingredients, now do we?" He giggled again, and advanced on America.

"D-dude, stop it! This isn't funny!" America struggled at his bonds as Arthur drew closer. "Stop!" The stench of blood was all around him, and a drop of blood from the cages splattered down his neck and stuck to his hair.

"Who's laughing?" Arthur asked happily, before digging the scalpel into America's hip.

America cried out in pain, before biting his tongue down hard. He was a nation; he could handle anything this crazy guy threw at him. And eventually someone would notice he was late for the meeting. Right?

Arthur dragged the scalpel down, and blood spurted from America's wound. America hissed in pain when Arthur circled it back around, connecting the cut in a lopsided circle. He then pulled America's pants down, along with his boxers, and proceeded to rip the skin off his body.

America couldn't help himself. He screamed, and, without missing a beat, Arthur began to cut out a glob of muscle. America's leg hollered in pain, and it felt like he was on fire. America struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, he saw Arthur, calmly watching him as he munched away on the bloody muscle wrapped in skin.

His brightly colored clothes were sticky and wet with America's blood, but he didn't seem to mind. "Not bad," he announced after swallowing the piece of flesh. America felt sick. "But it needs a little something... e_xtra_."

America didn't like the way he said that. As he gritted his teeth in excruciating pain, Arthur sauntered back to the table, licking his lips as he grabbed up a vile. "Here we go!" he chimed, and promptly sprinkled a little into America's open wound.

America screamed. It was salt! The seasoning felt like acid on his leg, and Arthur roughly pulled America's pants back up. "A man should be able to die with dignity," he explained, "But don't worry. I'm not finished with you yet. We still have to make cupcakes!"

What he did next was unexpected. He took a knife off the table and cut America's shirt off. America was already on the verge of tears, the pain from his salt-clad wound scratching up against denim nearly too much to bear. And then Arthur managed to do something worse.

He plunged the knife into America's stomach.

America let out another chocked scream as Arthur continued to cut; once he had a nice, crudely drawn shape finished, he pulled the skin off, rolling it up into a ball and popping it in his mouth. America felt like vomiting, his body's muscles tensing in a feeble attempt to get rid of the pain, as Arthur chewed. He then reached in a hand and tore America's stomach right out of his chest.

America let out another blood curdling scream, and his vision blurred again. Tears freely ran down his face, and he dared to glance over at Arthur, who was dancing around with his stomach in hand.

"Yes, I do believe you'll make such lovely cupcakes, dearest America!" he squealed joyfully, coming back to stand by America. "But I'll need more than that!"

After throwing the stomach into one of the jars on the table, Arthur reached into the open wound with his bare hands and yanked out America's intestines. Giggling like a mad man, he bit off one part and slurped it up like a noodle. "Hehe, this is so fun! Don't you agree, 'Merica?

America sobbed and screamed again. The pain was so terrible, a new word would have to be created to describe it.

Arthur pouted a bit. "Oh, that's no fun, sweety! Your screaming is so loud, it hurts my ears! I forgot my duct tape, but I think I have something better for you!" Arthur skipped over to the table as America's screams grew louder and more strangled, and pulled out a needle and thread.

"This'll quiet you up!" Arthur giggled, and stabbed the needle as slowly as possible through America's lower lip. As America's screams grew quieter and more chocked, he sewed together the top lip, and again and again, until he expertly finished off with a knot at the end. America's eyes screwed shut in pain, and blood oozed from his mouth, as well as mucus from his nose.

His lungs screeched; with his mouth sewn shut and his nose clogged, America couldn't breathe. His chest heaved, and he sobbed uncontrollably.

"There we go!" Arthur laughed happily. "You look so pretty, 'Merica! Now, where were we?" He grabbed the top of the hole inside America's stomach, and ripped upwards.

America would've screamed again if he could, and his body trashed against it's restrains. Arthur continued removing his organ's manually, until he stopped at the most important one.

"Here's your heart, 'Merica," Arthur whispered in his ear. Blood soaked the floor, as well as both of them, and if America wasn't a nation he'd be surely dead by now. "It's the most important one. They say if a nation loses their heart, they die. Let's test that theory, okay?"

America just barely nodded. He wanted it _over with_ already.

Arthur snatched the heart, ripping it from the veins and arteries connecting it to its owner. America's lungs would've screamed for air, if he had any, and his senses blurred as a dull numbness came over him.

The last thing he heard was a gentle and tender, "I love you, 'Merica," and a fleeting, high pitched giggle.

***Cyanide***

When England entered his home after a chaotic world meeting, he found his twin Arthur standing in the kitchen, frosting a batch of vanilla cupcakes with vibrant colored frosting.

"Hello, brother dearest!" Arthur sang upon seeing his counter part. "Would you like some cupcakes?"

"God, no," England huffed, setting his briefcase down at the kitchen table. "No doubt you've poisoned them again. What'd you use this time?"

"Oh," Arthur said absentmindedly. He finished the cupcakes and loaded them all onto a crystal, elaborate plate, setting them on the kitchen table in front of Arthur. His grin was a bit disturbing, even to a man who had lived all his life with the fruitcake, and he continued. "There's no poison in this batch." He grabbed a blue one and but down into it, eating it up.

England immediately became concerned. "No poison?"

"Nope."

"...I'm still not eating any of them."

"I figured."

England proceeded to tell Arthur quite hesitantly about his day. He explained the World Meeting, complained about France, talked about having to bring Scotland home from the bar, and complained about France some more. "The most peculiar thing," England said, "Was that America wasn't at the meeting today."

"Oh." Arthur smiled politely. "I know."

"You... what?" England gasped, the horrifying reason behind America's absence dawning on him. "Oh, oh God, no. You- you _didn't_."

"He was very tasty. Want a cupcake?" Arthur happily sighed, his blue eyes never breaking contact with England's green ones.

England bolted from the room and ran for the basement, shakily taking out a key and unlocking the wooden door. He flung it open and flicked on the lights. He felt tears sting at his eyes at the scene.

In the biggest suspended cage, he saw a bloody mass of tangled limbs, and a frayed, nearly unrecognizable mess of blond hair. What really gave it away was the glasses, clean and neat, totally void of blood, perched proudly in the cage with the corpse.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Arthur whispered in England's ear, and England would've killed him if he wasn't so shocked. "He didn't put up much of a fight, though. I was kind of disappointed."

England started sobbing, burying his face in his hands. He shook, and nearly fell before Arthur's strong arms wrapped around him.

"Shh, shh, sweetheart. It's okay," he cooed in England's ear. "You can make cupcakes with me next time."

"A-arthur...?" England cried.

"Yes?"

England collapsed on the floor in grief and horror. "I really, really hate you."


End file.
